


I Leave Holding Nothing

by orphan_account



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: AU, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, complete lack of a happy ending, nothing is quite as it seems, thief!James
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is—the thing is that James is a thief, and a damn good one, too. It’s obviously not what he had in mind for a career choice when he was growing up, but. He loves what he does, loves the thrill and the rush and the adrenaline that soars through him every time he successfully pulls off a heist, and the money sitting in his bank account isn’t half-bad, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Leave Holding Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [logan_james](http://logan-james.livejournal.com) Livejournal fic exchange, for this prompt: _James Diamond is a sly, devious, manipulative, and obviously pretty crook. He doesn't need help when it comes to getting the things he wants. But when Jett Stetson hires him to steal an item labeled Logan Mitchell, he has no idea whether it was luck or ill fate. For one thing, Logan Mitchell is pretty cute, but really, Jett isn't paying him enough because Logan Mitchell is anything but an item, and not to mention a genius at running away._

The drop down isn’t that far, not really, and he knows he’s had to rappel from drops even higher than this, but it doesn’t change the way his heart is beating in his chest, thundering in his ears so loudly he has to strain to make sure the coast is clear.

Sweat is prickling along his hairline beneath the black bandanna, sliding down his back beneath the t-shirt and leather jacket he’s wearing, and the harness is seriously killing his junk, though that might be from his jeans, but whatever.

James pulls the rope attached to his harness twice, tugs at the other end where it’s wrapped and knotted around the only stable fixture he was able to find that could hold his weight, and when he sees that they’re both tightly secured, he takes a deep breath and jumps.

\--

The thing is—the thing is that James is a thief, and a damn good one, too. It’s obviously not what he had in mind for a career choice when he was growing up, but. He loves what he does, loves the thrill and the rush and the adrenaline that soars through him every time he successfully pulls off a heist, and the money sitting in his bank account isn’t half-bad, either.

He’s never been the smartest or the best at anything, but with everything he’s taught himself about pulling off a heist, he’s become one of the best, one of the smartest, and it wasn’t easy. Hell, it’s still not easy. He’s taught himself everything from lock-picking to stealth entry to disabling security alarms to bypassing security systems, how to hack into different databases when he needs certain information, and with the ever evolving technology of today’s world, it’s quite the feat to be able to stay on top and ahead of it all.

It’s good, though. Great, even. He loves the challenge each new heist brings him, loves that he’s become the go-to guy even if it’s a little stressful the way one job rolls right into the next sometimes with very little time for him to decompress and just take a breath, but he really couldn’t imagine living any other way, not anymore.

It’s given him everything he’s ever wanted, from his walk-in closet full of designer clothes and shoes to the massive size of his house—mansion—to the garage full of cars to the choice of being with almost anybody he wants.

So it’s not exactly the kind of fame he once strived for, but he’s beyond caring about that now. Singing will always be his number one passion, but this? This is a close second.

\--

“Alright, Knight,” James says into the phone, staring down at the small black velvet bag on his desk. “I’ve got what you asked for.”

“Excellent,” Knight says, his giddiness oozing through the phone. “I’ll drop by around 11 tomorrow, and the money’ll be wired to your account by then.”

“Awesome,” James replies, “I’ll clear you with security.”

“Can you add someone else to that list?” Knight asks.

“Why would I do that?” James asks, brow knit in confusion.

“I’ve got another job lined up for you. This guy, Jett Stetson, I think his name is, needs something acquired, and he heard through the grapevine that you’re the best. Somehow he found my number and asked if I could get in contact with you for him, set up an appointment or something, and when I told him you were just finishing up a job for me, he asked if he could come along for the trade to see how you work,” Knight explains, but James has already tuned him out, trying to figure if he’s ever heard the name Jett Stetson before.

“I dunno, Kendall,” James says with a sigh. “You know how I feel about doing work for people I don’t know, people I’ve never even heard of before.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Kendall says hurriedly, “but what could it hurt to at least meet the guy?”

“I guess,” James says, figuring he could at least meet the guy and tell him to his face that he doesn’t do jobs for people he doesn’t know. It’s a trust thing, obviously. One job done for the wrong person and James knows he could be in a world of trouble. It’s why he’s made a policy of sorts for himself: never take a job unless he or someone he’s worked for knows the new client and can vouch for how trustworthy they are. It’s a huge gamble taking a job from someone with no reputation in this world of underground dealings.

“So, we’ll see you tomorrow at 11, then,” Kendall says, not even giving James a chance to reply before he hangs up.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” James says to no one, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It’s not like he needs to take this job; he’s got more money in his bank account than he could ever dream of spending, but he’s got nothing else lined up right now, and all that downtime sits uneasily with him no matter how much he complains to himself about not having a break between jobs. He needs to be moving, needs to be doing something, and if he has to, he’ll take this damn job, just to have something to do that’s not sitting around watching mindless television all day.

\--

Kendall—and Jett—arrive at precisely 11 the next morning, James’ head of security, Freight Train, escorting them into the house. It’s been awhile since James has seen Kendall, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull him into an almost-hug. Kendall’s been a sort of brother to James, and though they’re not exactly close, James likes the familiarity and ease Kendall brings about every time he’s around.

“It’s good to see you, man,” James says, letting Kendall go.

Kendall nods, says, “You, too,” then gestures at the guy standing next to him. “This is Jett Stetson. Jett, this is James Diamond, thief extraordinaire.”

“Good to meet you, James,” Jett says, pulling James into a handshake that’s just this side of too tight.

“Yeah, you, too, Jett,” James says, giving back as good as he’s getting, amping up the strength of his grip every time Jett’s goes even a fraction tighter.

“So, James,” Kendall says, making Jett finally relinquish his grip on James’ hand. “I believe you’ve got something for me.”

“Right,” James says, flexing the fingers of his right hand to bring some feeling back into them. “They’re in my office.”

Kendall and Jett follow James to a room on the second floor, and James stops right outside it to pull a panel of the wall away, punching in his security code and replacing the panel once the door beeps, signaling it’s been unlocked.

It’s one of James’ favorite features to his office, ensuring he’s the only one who can gain access to it. The buttons of the keypad are heat-sensitive and the floor around it is pressure-sensitive, all synced to match James’ weight and body heat. The safe inside the room has the same features, with a little added extra. It takes a pinprick sample of blood before James is allowed to even input the security code, and it’s probably one of the securest safes anywhere, all made personally to suit James’ need.

James sets the bag holding the jewels down on the desk, keeping them just out of Kendall’s reach. Kendall sighs and takes out his phone, makes a show out of tapping out the information needed, then turns the screen to James to show him the transfer of funds.

“Thank you,” James says, sliding the bag to Kendall.

“So, that’s it?” Jett asks, eyes flitting between James and Kendall.

“Uh, yeah,” James says, arms folded over his chest. “What were you expecting?”

“Nothing,” Jett replies. “Just thought it’d be a little, I dunno, more.”

“No, that’s pretty much how every trade goes,” James says. “I hand over the goods, funds are transferred electronically. All the heavy lifting is up to me. I get whatever information the person I’m doing it for can give me, and do everything on my own from there. After I get the item, the trade is made, and that’s it.”

“Sounds pretty easy,” Jett says, relaxing into the chair.

James snorts and shakes his head. “Sure, easy.”

“I’m gonna go wait out there while you two continue discussing this,” Kendall says, clearly bored with the topic since he knows how everything goes.

“Yeah, okay,” Jett says, attention fixed firmly on James.

James feels a little uncomfortable with how Jett is looking at him, an uneasiness prickling under his skin, and for a minute he wants to tell Kendall to stay, but he knows that if he’s going to take this job, Jett probably won’t want Kendall around to hear the details of it. Privacy is key to people new to this world.

The door closes softly behind Kendall and Jett sits up straighter, apparently ready to get down to business now that Kendall’s gone.

“Right, then,” James says, sitting down at his desk. “I assume you want to discuss what I’ll be retrieving for you?”

“It’s all very vague, but what information I do have is on this flash drive,” Jett says, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a small silver rectangle. “How long does it usually take for you to acquire an item, and what is your price?”

James takes the flash drive and stows it in a small drawer of his desk. “Depends on how hard the job is, but usually a week, sometimes longer. Price starts at five million, and if I feel the need to adjust up because of any unseen difficulty in retrieving the item, you have to be amenable to that.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Jett says, rising to his feet. “Look over what information I’ve provided and get back to me.”

“Sure thing,” James says, following suit and shaking Jett’s hand once again. “I’ll show you out.”

\--

Jett wasn’t lying when he said what information he had was vague. Actually, vague doesn’t even begin to describe it. There is almost nothing on the flash drive, just two words and an address. It’s literally nothing to go off of and James has no idea if he’ll be able to pull this off.

But.

It makes him all the more eager to get started on it. There’s almost nothing he loves more than a challenge like this.

He just has one call to make first, an upping of his price, and then he’ll be ready to get rolling.

\--

Jett hesitantly agreed to James’ upped price of ten million, and James forewarned him that if this job gets any tougher, the price will go up again. James was pleased that Jett didn’t seem to have too much of a problem with that, and he was glad for it.

James gets to work almost immediately following the call to Jett, punching in the address that was on the flash drive into the GPS of his car. He’s a little surprised to find himself in a quiet residential area, small, modest houses lining the street on either side, but it’s not like this is the first time someone’s asked him to steal something from a house, and he doubts it’ll be the last.

Heists like this are so easy James could probably do them in his sleep. Houses like this aren’t armed with hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of alarm systems, and it’s an easy in and out job once he finds what he’s looking for. Getting in will be laughably easy, probably only requiring the use of his lock picks, and he almost feels kind of bad for the amount of money he’s getting in return, but easy money is easy money and there’s no way he’s turning it down.

Since it’s still too light out for James to do much of anything besides a drive-by, he turns his car in the direction of home, hoping to find a little more information on the item Jett wants him to retrieve.

\--

James finds next to nothing on Logan Mitchell, the item Jett wants. Search after extensive search yields no results, and James is completely dumbfounded. He has no idea what he’s looking for, what he’s supposed to retrieve, and the frustration he feels is enough to have him sending off a text to Jett, upping the price by another five million.

Of all the heists he’s pulled off, none of them have ever left him floundering like this, with pretty much no idea as to what he’s supposed to be doing. Yeah, okay, he has a location, but with no information on what the hell a Logan Mitchell is, he’s stuck.

No, James tells himself, he’s not stuck. Not yet. He still has to search the house that matches the address Jett gave him, and hopefully he’ll be able to find some fucking clue as to what he’s looking for there.  
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, decides he might as well start getting ready for tonight’s mission.

His gear is all pretty much the same: black jeans, black shirt, black leather jacket and gloves. It helps keep him hidden in the darkness of the night, allowing him to blend into the shadows with no one none the wiser, and the gloves leave no trace of his fingerprints anywhere.

There’s a secret room behind one of the walls in his closet, another keypad hidden by a panel of the wall. It’s a tech and supply room, a large screen mounted to a side of the wall, a desk in the middle with smaller screens, wires criss-crossing the floor.

On another side of the wall is his gear, ropes and rappelling equipment, his lock-pick sets, the devices he needs to help remotely crack security systems. He’s been told many times that everything he does would be so much easier if he had a partner or group to work with, but James scoffs at the idea every time. He works damn fine on his own, has no one he has to rely on to help him do any of the things he can already do on his own, admittedly probably better than anyone else can.

James grabs his favorite lock-pick set, the leather case soft and worn with age, and slips it into his pocket, locking the room back up safely behind him as he exits.

There’s too much nervous excitement bubbling in his stomach and he forgoes eating all together, doesn’t think he’d even be able to keep it down with the hum of adrenaline that’s already started trickling through his veins. A look out the window tells him the sun is just beginning to set, the sky a palette of soft pinks, blues, and oranges, and he figures he still has entirely too much time to kill before it’ll be dark enough for him to leave.

James really hates these waiting periods, these in between moments where there’s nothing he can do, too much empty time on his hands and his brain spitting out scenario after scenario of how badly this heist could go. It’s been years since he’s been even remotely close to getting caught, but it’s a worry that plagues him all the time, no matter how good he knows he is.

He heads down to the basement, punching in another code to be let into the room where he keeps his bows and arrows, figuring he can get in some target practice even though he really doesn’t need it. It’ll help pass the time and that’s really all he needs: a momentary distraction.

The weight of the bow feels good in his hands, solid and cool where he grips it. He doesn’t think, doesn’t really need to, grabbing an arrow and setting up the shot. He holds his breath and aims, exhales as the arrow flies, whistling through the air until it lodges itself into the large dartboard on the opposite wall. Bullseye.

He does it again and again until the muscles in his arms are singing pleasantly, a thin layer of sweat just starting to build. He lets the last arrow fly and smiles when it joins the others in the dead-center of the dartboard, carefully setting the bow down before leaving.

It’s finally time.

\--  
It’s barely 10 pm, but the neighborhood is dark and quiet, and it’s a little harder for James to find the house he’s looking for without the help of the sun. When he finds it, he drives further up the street and turns right at the first corner, parking there before quickly making his way back to the house.

There are no signs of any type of security system, just as he had figured earlier, and he sneaks around to the back of the house, lock-picks already in hand as he kneels at the backdoor. He fits the pieces into the lock, turns them this way and that until the lock gives and the door clicks open softly.

James quietly makes his way through the house, searching the kitchen first, wincing every time the floor creaks beneath his feet. Empty-handed, he moves onto the next room, the wood floor giving way to carpet, cushioning the sounds of his footfalls. There aren’t many places to search in the dining room and he quickly moves to the living room, rifling through the papers stacked neatly on the coffee table.

The floor above him creaks suddenly and James holds his breath, fixing the stack of papers the way they were before he touched them, so focused on the moving body upstairs that he almost ends up missing it.

It flutters to the floor, an envelope dislodged from the stack of papers, and what James sees there is enough to have him throwing the envelope to the table and making a quick getaway, all the noise he’s making be damned.

This is not—no. He doesn’t do this. That’s not who he is, not what he does, no matter how much he’s being paid. It’s—it’s—it’s fucking insane and Jett can fuck off if he thinks James is going to do this for him.

He does not, does not, fucking kidnap people, and he most certainly will not kidnap Logan Mitchell, whoever he happens to be.

James doesn’t even think, pulls out his phone the second he gets to his car and punches the screen as he dials, stomach swimming unpleasantly as it rings.

“H’llo?”

“Tell me you had no idea what he wanted me to take, or I swear to god, Knight,” James says in a rush, free hand clenched in a fist so tight his nails are digging into the his palm.

“Slow down, dude,” Kendall says. “Try that again, only, y’know, calmer this time.”

“Jett,” James grits out. “Tell me you had no idea what he wanted me to grab for him.”

“Obviously I don’t, James,” Kendall replies. “I left the room while you two were talking. I just assumed it was probably some ridiculous snobby artifact he wanted or something.”

“Try a fucking person, Kendall!” James says through clenched teeth, chest heaving with how fucking angry he is right now.

“Wait, what?” Kendall asks, disbelief in his voice.

“My house, fifteen minutes,” James says, then hangs up, climbing into the car and gunning the engine as he makes a U-turn, steering in the direction of home.

\--

Kendall’s waiting at the security gate when James pulls up, and when the guard sees James giving the go-ahead, waves them both on through. James doesn’t even bother pulling into the garage, just parks right behind Kendall’s car in front of the house, leading Kendall inside without a word.

“What the hell’s going on, dude?” Kendall asks, apparently through with the whole quiet game James is playing.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” James says, ripping off his jacket and throwing it down onto the sofa. “I figured it was a painting or something, y’know? They always have weird names and shit, and seriously, Logan Mitchell? Sounded like the name of a painting to me, only I couldn’t find anything on it when I searched earlier, so I figured I’d just go straight in and check out the house Jett gave me the address for. Lo and fucking behold, out pops a damn envelope with the name Logan Mitchell on it. Like. What the fuck, Kendall? I may be a damn thief, but I am not a kidnapper and I have no idea where Jett would’ve gotten the idea that I was.”

“I—what?” Kendall shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Seriously? That’s messed up. Like, beyond messed up.”

James snorts. “Tell me about it. I’ll steal anything, okay, diamonds, jewelry, money, the fucking Mona Lisa if the price is right, but a person? Jett could offer me the damn moon and I’d say no.”

“You need to call him, James,” Kendall says, “tell him you’re not doing this. There’s no way you can pull this off without getting caught, and with all the other cases of theft already built against you, you’d be done for.”

“Yeah, no shit. They catch me doing something like this and that’s all they’ll need to put me away.”

“I’m gonna head back home before it gets too late,” Kendall says, rising from the sofa. “That’ll give you time to call Jett before you go to sleep, and you can call me in the morning to let me know how it went.”

“Yeah, okay,” James says softly. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it, man,” Kendall replies, then he’s gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.

James heads up to his office, waiting until he’s seated comfortably in his chair before he pulls his phone out and dials Jett’s number, listening to it ring once, twice, three times before Jett picks up.

“Done already?” Jett asks, and James wishes he could crawl through the phone and punch Jett in his smartass mouth and knock that smirk he’s undoubtedly wearing right off his face.

“I’m not doing it,” James says simply, tone calm and even.

“Excuse me?” Jett questions, not a trace of smugness in sight.

“You heard me, Stetson. I’m not doing it. That’s not the kind of shit I do,” James says, dropping his tone to a deeper, more serious level.

“You want more money, I take it,” Jett says, barreling on before James can get a word in. “$25 million work for you?”

“No,” James says fiercely. “Not 25, not 30, not 100. I. Am. Not. Doing. This.” He says each word slow and clear, letting Jett know just how fucking serious he’s being and that no amount of money will get him to change his mind.

“Alright, then. How about this,” Jett says, and the tone of his voice makes James’ skin crawl in the most unpleasant of ways. “You get what I asked, I’ll give you $30 mil. You don’t, and I will call every cop, every FBI agent, the fucking DEA, the CIA, whoever I have to call, I will. Do not mess with me, Diamond,” he growls out, and this is it, James is screwed. There’s no way he’s getting out of this.

“I see your face after this, Stetson, so help me, I will put a bullet through your head.”

“Please,” Jett says with a derisive snort. “Like you’d have the balls to pull the trigger.”

James hangs up, knows that if he doesn’t Jett will only rile him up further. He doesn’t bother changing, just storms through the house in the direction of the gym, pulling his shirt over his head and heading straight to the punching bag, landing blow after blow after blow until he’s caked in sweat, and even then he can still feel the anger and frustration boiling in his blood, slipping through his veins until his head is spinning with it.

There’s no way he can turn this down, he knows that, not with Jett’s threat hanging over his head like that, but he doesn’t think he can do it. It’s not the actual kidnapping he doesn’t think he’d be able to do, it’s the whole kidnapping itself. It goes against every moral fiber James has, the absolute wrongness of it.

So what if he’s okay with stealing millions of dollars in diamonds and jewels and paintings. It’s not like it’s hurting anybody. Stealing a person, though? No, absolutely not. Just the thought of having to kidnap someone has him seconds from throwing up, stomach acid crawling up his throat, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

Not like it matters now. He has nothing even remotely resembling an appetite and probably won’t until Jett Stetson and his dumbass ideas are behind him.

He’ll find a way around this. He’s James fucking Diamond, okay. He’s not considered the best for nothing.

\--

One day passes, then another, and another, and James still isn’t sure what to do. He’s ignored all calls and texts, told Freight Train not to let anyone in, locked inside his office as he thinks of every possible way he can get out of doing this kidnapping.

He’s come up with exactly zero ideas and he knows his time is running out. It’s only a matter of time before Jett gets tired of waiting and follows through on his threat, and James can’t let that happen. Life as he knows it will be over if that happens.

Frustrated, James pulls out his phone and shoots off a text, then calls down to Freight Train to let him know he’s expecting someone. He knows there’s no way he can do this himself and it’s taken a lot for him to be able to admit that to himself. He’s not one for asking for help, and it already feels like he’s admitting defeat, but, in this case, it’s not like he minds all too much.

The doorbell rings and James steps outside his office, waiting until Freight Train comes into view before going back in, resuming his position at his desk.

It’s now or never.

\--

It’s 2 AM and James is wired, a sick feeling filling his stomach. He’s got rope, a rag soaked in chloroform, a mild sedative, handcuffs, and a lock-pick tucked into the utility belt around his waist. The SUV he uses for big hauls is idling in the driveway, ready for him to make his getaway.

James doesn’t bother being quiet as he makes his way into the house, locking the backdoor behind him before he makes his way inside and up the stairs, opening door after door until he finds the one he needs.

He’s quiet now, tip-toeing across the room, rag held in his hand. The sick feeling increases tenfold and James can’t help it, holds his breath and closes his eyes as he places it over Logan’s nose and mouth. A gasping inhale and relentless squirming has James opening his eyes, long enough to see the panic in Logan’s eyes thanks to the glow of the moon coming in through the window, and then Logan stops, eyes shut, body still.

James quickly crosses the room to turn on the light, tucks the rag back into his utility belt and switches it for the rope, binding a length of it to Logan’s wrists, then his ankles. He hoists Logan over his shoulder, careful not to hit his head on the wall or the doorframe as he makes his way back outside, quickly depositing Logan into the backseat before climbing in the front, locking the doors to ensure Logan doesn’t try to get out, even if it’d be a bit of a challenge, what with his arms and legs being bound together.

“So,” Kendall says from the driver’s seat. “Now what?”

“I have no fucking idea,” James says, knocking his head into the passenger side window.

“Are you really going to give him up to Jett?” Kendall asks, looking over his shoulder before switching lanes.

“No,” James says, shaking his head. There are a million things he’s uncertain of, but this is one thing he knows for sure: he absolutely refuses to turn Logan over to Jett. He has no idea why Jett even wants Logan, but his gut tells him that whatever the reason is, it’s nothing good. “Let’s just take him back to my place,” he continues. “We’ll figure something out there.”

Kendall nods his head and drives, and James hopes with all his might that Logan will stay passed out long enough to get him safely inside James’ house.

\--

As James’ luck would have it, Logan starts coming to a few blocks from his house, and it doesn’t take long for Logan to jerk to full awareness once he realizes he’s in a moving vehicle, not the safety of his bedroom.

James urges Kendall to drive a little faster when Logan starts thrashing about, kicking his feet against the back of James’ seat, squirming around trying to get out of the rope tied around his wrists, but all he succeeds in doing is toppling over. James can’t help it—he’s human, for fuck’s sake—and starts laughing, failing to stop despite the murderous glare Logan’s sending his way.

“Yeah, it’s so damn hilarious, isn’t it?” Logan snarks, and James can see the moment what he said registers, Logan’s eyes going wide in panic, stuttering as he tries to take it back.

“Lighten up, dude,” James says, “we’re not going to hurt you.”

“Not gonna hurt me, huh?” Logan asks. “Then why are my wrists and feet tied with fricken rope?”

“Huh,” James says, not entirely sure himself. “So you wouldn’t hurt me, I suppose.”

“It’d only serve you right, asshole,” Logan grits out. “What do you even want with me?”

James opens his mouth to reply, with what, he doesn’t know, but notices they’ve pulled up to his house, the gate already sliding open to let them in, and he closes his mouth, letting the conversation die.

“Oh, god,” Logan says, on the verge of hyperventilating. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? You’re like, some kind of mob leader, right? Of course you are. Look at your house, this car, the way you’re dressed. I’m gonna die. Oh god, I’m gonna die.”

“Oh, my god, James,” Kendall says. “Shut him up, please.”

“Logan!” James shouts, effectively silencing Logan’s panicked tirade. “I’m not a fricken mob boss, and I’m not going to kill you. Christ.”

“Like you’d tell me if you were!” Logan shouts back, then slams his mouth and eyes shut, head shaking a mile a minute as though that’ll make this entire situation disappear.

James wishes it were that easy. He sighs and exits the SUV, closes his door then opens Logan’s, motioning him over with a wave of his hand.

“I’d move if I could,” Logan says, gesturing with his head to the way he’s stuck on his side, arms bound behind his back preventing him from righting himself.

“Right,” James says, feeling like an idiot. He leans in and grips Logan’s forearm, pulling him across the leather seat until he’s sitting upright. “I’m gonna untie your legs, okay? Just don’t try to kick me.”

As soon as James gets Logan’s legs untied, Logan does exactly that, aiming a blow to James’ stomach. James pivots to the side but still gets nicked by Logan’s foot, which, okay, doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipated because, hey, Logan’s barefoot.

Still, he rubs at his side and says, “I told you not to kick me. If you’d rather, I can tie your legs back up and carry you inside.”

Logan blanches and shakes his head, promising to cooperate this time.

James tries to help him out of the SUV, but Logan shoves him away with his shoulder, sliding out on his own. James is quick to grab his arm, not even giving him a second to try and run away.

“You’re sticking around, right, Kendall?” James asks, steering Logan up the stairs to the front door.

“Sure,” Kendall says, shrugging.

“Wait,” Logan says, trying to turn in James’ hold. “How do I know he’s not going to hurt me?” he asks, eyes roaming in Kendall’s direction.

“I already told you he wouldn’t,” James says with a sigh, barely able to resist rolling his eyes, then realizes Logan can’t even see it and rolls them, anyway.

“That’s real convincing,” Logan replies, but again, he must think he’s overstepping some kind of boundary and closes his mouth so fast James is surprised his jaw doesn’t crack.

“Whatever.” James is already more than tired of this entire situation. He’s got half a mind to say fuck it and turn Logan over to Jett, but that stupid little part of himself that insists Jett only wants Logan for bad things won’t let him.

James unlocks the door, the security system registering the chip in his key, switching into standby mode for thirty seconds. It’s not a lot of time, but it helps keep his house even more secure. If any of his locks are picked open, the alarm sounds instantly, or if someone happens to get their hands on his key, the security system goes on standby for thirty seconds, and the only way to avoid the alarm going off is to input the security code to turn it back on.

James has to pass Logan off to Kendall so he can punch in the code, the seconds rapidly dwindling down, but he gets it entered and switched back on before the time runs out. Dealing with the alarm going off is not on his list of things to do today, tonight, this morning, whatever.

It’s late, really fucking late, and James is tired, exhausted, no adrenaline from this heist floating through his blood, only that nauseous, queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Kendall’s already leading Logan up to James’ office, and James has to jog up the stairs to catch up to them. He’s really at a loss for what to do now, but he opens the office door and steps in, Kendall and Logan following behind him.

“You’ve uh—you’ve got a lot of security here,” Logan says, looking around the office.

“It’s kind of a necessary thing in my line of business,” James says, shrugging.

“And what exactly would that be?” Logan asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I mean, besides breaking and entering, and kidnapping.”

“I’m not a kidnapper!” James shouts, hands balled into fists at his side.

“Hate to break it to you, James,” Kendall says, “but you kind of are.”

“Yeah, well,” James says, floundering for a response. “So are you.”

Kendall shrugs, like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and James wishes he could feel that way about this, but he can’t.

“Okay, so,” Logan says, pulling James’ attention back to him. “If you’re not a kidnapper, what are you?”

“A thief,” James says easily. It’s not like it bothers him to admit what he is, not anymore. Sure, in the beginning, there was that uneasiness, that unquellable sense of fear that he was going to get caught if the wrong person found out, but he’s been doing this for so long now that that worry has faded to the background, and he’s been able to fully come into his own as the best thief in almost the entire United States. Why should he deny something he’s so good at?

“Yeah, okay, because that’s so much better,” Logan says, voice oozing sarcasm.

“As much as I enjoy watching you two monologue,” Kendall cuts in, pushing Logan down into the closest chair, “we’ve got to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do.”

“I have an idea,” Logan says before James can response. “You can let me go. Sounds awesome, right?”

“No,” James and Kendall say simultaneously.

“Look,” James continues, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Logan. “I can’t do that. The entire reason I kidnapped you was for your own safety.”

Logan snorts out a laugh, very apparently not believing a word James is telling him.

“Don’t believe me, fine,” James says, “but I swear that it’s the truth.” He swallows slowly, buying himself some time, contemplating whether or not he actually wants to tell Logan about Jett, but decides that if he wants Logan to trust him, he’s going to have to.

“Do you know Jett Stetson?” he asks, voice calm and relaxed, hands folded together loosely in his lap.

“James!” Kendall says harshly, earning a sharp glare from James. “Fine. Do it your way. You clearly don’t need my help anymore so I’m outta here.”

“Dude, wait,” James says, but Kendall’s already gone, the door closing softly behind him.

“Trouble in paradise?” Logan taunts, and James whips his head back in Logan’s direction, face pinched in confusion before he realizes what Logan’s talking about.

“No, no, ew, no,” James says, shaking his head vigorously to get those images out of his head. “He’s like my brother, dude. That’s gross.”

But it wasn’t when he first met Kendall. Then, they were mere acquaintances, orbiting the same circle of people, and James can readily admit that Kendall’s damn attractive, but there was never anything between them aside from a brief sexual encounter and a fleeting sexual attraction.

It’s pretty much never mentioned now, a thing of the past, and their relationship really is more like that of siblings. They bicker and argue and more often than not disagree on many things, but when one of them needs the other, there’s no hesitation for them to be there.

“So what’s his problem, then?” Logan asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Wait. When did that happen?

“Too much give in the rope,” Logan says with a smirk. “The knot was good, but you left more than enough room for me to move my hands and undo it.”

Well, shit.

“Whatever. Any tighter and it would’ve hurt you, which I’ve told you I don’t plan on doing, so. Anyway,” James says, well aware of how off-tangent he’s gone. “Jett Stetson, do you know him?”

A look crosses Logan’s face that James can’t quite place, but it’s there and gone in an instant, Logan shaking his head as he says, “No, I’ve never heard of him. Why?”

“He uh—he’s the one who wanted you kidnapped,” James explains.

“So, what, you’re just going to hand me over to him?” Logan asks, the tone of his voice edging into hysteria.

“Jesus, no,” James replies. “I’m not even sure what I’m going to do yet, but handing you over to him isn’t even an option.”

“So I’m supposed to just stay here while you figure that out? No, thanks, man. I’ve got a life, y’know, things to do, places to go. If this Jett person wants me so damn bad, he can find me on his own.”

Logan moves to rise from his seat, but James is there in an instant, pushing him back down until Logan stops fighting.

“It’s really safer for you if you stay here,” James says softly. “Best security system in the world is right here.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Logan says tersely, trying to push James away.

“I’ll tie you to that chair if I have to,” James threatens, pleased when Logan deflates completely.

“Why do you even care so much?” Logan asks, tone nothing short of defeated.

“I--,” James starts, then stops, failing to come up with anything to complete that. “This is the first time I’ve done anything like this, okay? I don’t even know who Jett is. I met him once for less than half an hour, I’ve talked to him briefly over the phone a couple times, but something about him doesn’t feel right. I have no idea why he wants you, but whatever the reason is, it can’t be anything good, and I won’t give you to him, even if it means I miss out on a shitload of money.”

“How much is a shitload?” Logan asks curiously, and James finds it a little odd that out of all that, the money is the one thing Logan picked up on.

“Um, I think $30 Mil was what we were up to,” James tells him.

“And you’re willingly going to give that up to protect someone you don’t even know?” Logan questions, brows furrowed like he can’t imagine ever doing something like that.

“In all fairness,” James says, “I don’t know Jett, either, but if he’s willing to pay that much for a person, it can’t be for anything good. I’d rather lose the money protecting someone than get that money knowing I’m purposely putting someone in danger.”

“That’s very noble of you,” Logan says, and there’s so much sarcasm in his voice James doesn’t even know what to say in response.

He opts to say nothing, lets the conversation just drop, and goes to sit at his desk, trying to formulate a plan on how to get Logan somewhere safe without Jett finding them.

Before he knows it, his head is lilting to the side, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to keep himself awake. He’s so fucking tired and his head hurts and he has no idea what to do now, and even though he knows he needs to stay awake, needs to keep an eye on Logan, his brain’s shutting down, pulling him into sleep.

\--

The security alarm blaring jerks James awake, and he nearly topples out of his chair in his haste to get up. A quick scan of the room shows a distinct lack of Logan’s presence and James bolts out the door, jumping every other stair to get to the main level quicker.

The front door is wide open, the alarm chirping loudly, and James deactivates it completely for the time being, knowing it’s going to be much more of a hassle to keep putting in the security code every time he has to come inside. Finding Logan will undoubtedly require a lot of coming and going, and the security system that James is so proud of will only be a hindrance right now.

Freight Train is already making his way inside by the time James has finished shutting down the security system, phone in his hand just in case he needs to call for back up.

“I’ve got this one under control, man,” James says, politely dismissing Freight Train.

“Just call me if you need me, boss,” Freight Train says, turning and exiting back through the front door.

James follows him outside and stops there, the SUV he parked out front missing. Well, at least he knows finding Logan won’t exactly be a challenge, thanks to the GPS tracker installed in it.

He pulls his phone out and sets to tracking it, running back inside to grab a set of car keys then jogging back out. It’s times like this that he’s grateful for having more than one vehicle, jumping into the silver BMW closest to him.

The GPS tracker on his phone beeps, signaling that it’s closed in on Logan’s location, and James guns it out of the garage, whipping the car around and stopping at the gate.

It’s—the gate’s open, and that makes no sense to James. The only people of opening the gate are him and Freight Train. Freight Train obviously wouldn’t have let Logan out, knowing no one gets in or out without James’ approval, and James was sleeping like a fucking idiot so he very clearly didn’t do it, but somehow, Logan found a way to open it.

It’s startlingly clear that Logan is much smarter than James or Jett gave him credit for, and if James is guessing right, Logan somehow found a way to hack into and override the security system to get out.

James hits the steering wheel with his palms, growling in frustration as he floors it, zipping through the streets until he’s caught up to Logan, speeding up a little so he can pass him, then slams on the brakes, jerking the wheel to the side so he slides to a stop at an angle, a barricade blocking Logan from going any further.

Logan doesn’t seem to be stopping or slowing, though, and James’ heart feels like it’s trying to escape out of his mouth, pounding so hard it’s like it’s trying to break his windpipe.

Logan stops at the last minute, tires squealing as the SUV slams to a halt, then Logan’s barreling out, arms thrown up in the air. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“What’s wrong with me?” James shouts back. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to protect you, and there you go, running off the first chance you get. If you have a death wish, I’ll gladly hand you over to Jett and let him take care of you because I do not need this shit. It is not my job to babysit a dick who doesn’t even want to be kept safe.”

“No one told you that you had to protect me, man,” Logan says, lowering his voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m more than capable of protecting myself.”

“Yeah, how?” James asks. “By running off? That’s a surefire way to get your ass killed!”

“Because getting kidnapped is so much better!”

James deflates in an instant, the cold, hard truth slapping him in the face. He’s no better than Jett, not really. He can stand there and say he’s doing this for Logan’s benefit, but really, how is keeping Logan against his will benefitting him? Truth is: it’s not. Nothing about this situation is benefitting either of them.

“Fine,” James says softly. “Do whatever you want.”

James turns to leave, but Logan’s voice stops him.

“So that’s it?” Logan asks, and seriously, James is so fucking confused. “Just gonna throw in the towel already?”

“What am I supposed to do? You clearly don’t want my help since apparently you’re more than capable of handling yourself. I’m done here.”

“But—“

“But what?” James growls out, turning back to face Logan. “You either want my help or you don’t.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Logan says, hands fisted in his hair in frustration.

James swears under his breath and takes a step closer. “Just. Give me a couple days, okay? I’ll figure something out.”

Logan nods hesitantly, says, “Okay,” so quietly James almost doesn’t hear him.

“Can I trust you to drive back to my house and not run off again?”

“You’ll have to drive in front of me,” Logan says. “I don’t exactly know where it’s at. I just kind of took a bunch of different turns.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been an idiot and tried to escape, then,” James mumbles, then, “Fine, follow me,” a little louder so Logan can hear him.

\--

Two days pass by with little incident, except for the one call from Jett, threatening James that if he didn’t hurry and deliver Logan, James would find himself in a very sticky situation. James had scoffed and hung up, putting the call to the back of his head as he tried and tried to figure out a way to get Logan away from Jett for good.

Logan seemed to settle in a little better, put up in one of James’ many guest rooms, and it was a relief when he quit trying to escape. More than that, it was nice for James to have someone around to talk to, and it blindsided him that Logan quickly became a comforting presence.

With the little downtime James had, he found himself watching tv with Logan, talking to him about the most random of things, and the more days that passed, the more James found himself putting off finding a way to get Logan away in favor of just hanging out with him.

It’s no surprise that with James’ line of work, he’s a little starved for human connection. Aside from Kendall, his only real friend, there’s no one he can talk to, lean on, and it really does get kind of lonely. James has all this money and more material possessions than any one person could ever need, but even he wants someone to spend the rest of his life with.

He knows, however, that the tentative connection he’s building with Logan can’t happen, that it’ll only cause him even more trouble, but it doesn’t stop the way he can’t help looking at Logan, the perfectly white straight teeth, the deep dimples in his cheeks, the smooth, plush swell of his lower lip, the two little moles at the base of his throat and how they’d taste beneath his tongue, and it gets even better—or worse, maybe, James hasn’t decided—when Logan starts wearing James’ clothes because James didn’t think to bring any of Logan’s belongings with when he took him.

There’s a deep thrum of possessiveness and satisfaction that burns through James’ veins when he sees Logan walking around in a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt, this urge to take and claim that’s getting harder and harder to ignore with every second that Logan’s in James presence.

James throws himself back into brainstorming possible ways to get Logan somewhere safe and away from Jett, ignoring the way it feels like his heart is ready to be ripped out of his chest at the thought of Logan not being around anymore.

It’s kind of sick, really, how attached James has gotten to him in less than a week, and it makes his stomach churn at how weak and idiotic he’s being. He’s done damn fine on his own this long, and Logan coming and going shouldn’t change that, but, he has, and James knows that once Logan is gone, the rest of his life is fucked until he finally forgets about Logan.

He knew this job was trouble from the jump. He just never thought it would be something like this.

\--

James is sitting on the sofa in the living room watching a movie with Logan—he really kind of sucks at resisting temptation, whatever—when his phone rings. He’s hesitant to answer it, doesn’t want to disturb this quiet little bubble of solitude surrounding them, but the longer he ignores it, the more it seems to ring, until Logan pauses the movie and urges James to answer it.

“Bossman,” Freight Train says over the phone line,” got a Mr. Stetson here to see you.”

James swallows hard and curses, opening and closing his mouth as his thoughts race. This is not something he expected, had never even thought to plan something just in case it did, and it’s like he’s looking down the barrel of a gun, waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

“Boss?”

“Um, shit. Give me five minutes, then let him in,” James says, “but make sure he doesn’t have any weapons or anything on him.”  
“Sure thing,” Freight Train says, then the line clicks off.

“What’s going on?” Logan asks, brows knit in confusion.

“No time to talk,” James says, rising from the sofa. “I need you to follow me.”

“What? Why?”

“Just—I need you to trust me, okay?”

“I already do,” Logan says softly, and James tries to ignore the warmth spreading through him at those few words, how quick Logan was to say that he does, because if he doesn’t get his ass moving now, it’s not going to matter how much Logan trusts him, not when Jett finds him.

James quickly races up the stairs, Logan right behind him, leading him into his bedroom before punching in the code to open the tech and supply room.

“What is this?” Logan asks, eyes wide as he takes in everything about the room.

“That’s not important right now,” James says. “Just sit there and don’t touch anything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“James, what?” Logan asks, but James is already closing the secret room, his heart racing as the look of fear and confusion on Logan’s face disappears behind the wall.

\--

Freight Train is standing in the foyer with Jett by his side when James descends the stairs.

Jett wastes no times with formalities, cuts right to the chase and asks, “Where is he?”

James tries to slow the beating of his heart, the way it’s jack-rabbiting in his ears, his throat, his chest, says, “I have no idea,” in a voice that doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“Don’t mess with me, Diamond,” Jett grits out. “It’s already been more than a week and I’ve been patient enough.”

“Yeah, and I said sometimes it takes longer. This would be one of those times. You’re asking me to do something I’ve never done before, so forgive me if it’s not quite up to your speed.”

Jett looks less than pleased, face pinched in irritation. “You have until this time tomorrow. I’ll be here, and you better have what I asked for,” he says, turning and leaving without another word.

James fists his hands in his hair, tries not to let it show just how much this job is getting to him, but from the soft sound of Freight Train’s voice asking him if he’s okay, James knows he’s failed.

“Yeah,” James says, anyway, the lie thick and heavy on his tongue, in his gut.

Freight Train quietly excuses himself, the front door closing with a soft snick.

James races up the stairs, back into his bedroom, keying in the security code so fast he messes up, his hands and fingers feeling almost foreign. He takes a deep breath and keys it in again, letting out a drawn out sigh when the room’s revealed.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks immediately, rushing to James’ side.

James snorts, shakes his head. “Not even remotely okay.”

“Gonna tell me what’s going on now?” Logan asks, hands a comforting weight on James’ arms as he guides him to the lone chair in the room.

James revels in the warmth of Logan touching him, the way it feels like fireworks are shooting up his veins everywhere Logan’s skin is pressed against his own, the way he’s calmed and comforted by the simple contact, reality crashing down around him the second he realizes that in twenty-four hours, he won’t have this anymore.

James clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter, Logan’s hands falling away with the movement. “Jett was here,” he says, pressing his hands to his knees to stop their nervous bouncing. “Says I have ‘til tomorrow to hand you over or I’m pretty much screwed for life.”

“You can’t—he can’t—dammit.” Logan starts pacing, one hand fisted in his hair while the other waves through the air, back and forth, back and forth until James is almost sick watching him.

“Can you stay still? You’re gonna make me throw up,” James says, cutting off the way Logan’s lips are moving soundlessly.

“I think I have an idea,” Logan says instead, completely ignoring James’ request as he keeps pacing the length of the room.

“I’m all ears,” James says, ready to hear what Logan’s genius plan is. Hopefully it’ll be something to get them both out of this mess, something that’ll let them—no. James isn’t even going to let himself think about that. Much as he wants it, there’s no room in his life for it, not now, maybe not ever.

“Okay,” Logan says, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush of warm air. “Here’s what I’m thinking…”

\--

James is humming softly to himself in the kitchen when Logan walks in, hair matted wetly to his forehead.

“I don’t know if I’ve already told you this, but, man, that shower is amazing,” Logan says, grinning, carding a hand through his hair until the wet locks are all spiked up.

“Uh, yeah,” James says, at a loss for words, his mind quickly bomarbed with the images of Logan in the shower, skin soft and pink and wet, water sliding down, down, down.

“Anyway,” Logan says, pulling James out of his thoughts. “I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie or something, take your mind off tomorrow.”

James can think of about a billion other things they could do together instead of watching a movie, but he nods his head in agreement, about to lead Logan across the house to the theater he has built in when the oven timer beeps.

“I made a couple pizzas,” James says when Logan looks at him then the oven. “We can just take some with us.”

“Sure,” Logan says, rifling through the cupboards until he finds the plates while James takes the pizzas out of the oven, setting them on the counter to cool for a minute before he cuts them into pieces.

They grab a few slices each, carrying their own plates as James leads them down a long hall, dim lights lining the floor and ceiling.

“I thought we were going to watch a movie?” Logan asks from behind him, the sound of his voice letting James know just how confused he is.

“We are,” James replies, then stops at the last door lining the hall, pushing it open and ushering Logan in before him.

“You have a built-in theater?” Logan asks, eyes wide in amazement.

“Yep,” James says, smiling.

“And we’ve been watching movies out there why?”

James shrugs and takes a seat at the lowest level, loveseats installed on either side of the aisle instead of the reclining theater seats the rows behind him have. “I dunno. Easier, I guess. I barely use this room.”

“I’d probably live in here if this was my house,” Logan says, sitting in the empty space next to James.

“As you’ve noticed,” James says, “I don’t have much use for entertaining people. I don’t exactly have friends.”

“I—oh. I just—I thought it was because I was here,” Logan says, fidgeting with the plate in his hands.

“No,” James admits. “Just don’t have friends, except for Kendall, but you saw how well that went.”

James doesn’t know why he’s opening up to Logan like this, only that it feels good, like it’s bringing them even closer, filling that overwhelmingly empty hole James has always tried to ignore.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says softly, picking at the pepperoni on his pizza.

“Not a big deal,” James says, shrugging his shoulders, brushing it off. “Anyway. What movie do you want to watch?”

They abandon their plates on the bar counter in the back of the room and settle on an older movie, one in the long line of James Bond movies, but James doesn’t pay much attention to it, couldn’t even if he wanted to. All he can focus on is Logan next to him, the way Logan keeps stretching and shifting, sliding over in increments until their thighs are almost pressed together, James’ breath lodged in his throat.

He wants to ask Logan what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth, to say anything, doesn’t want Logan to move away or this moment to ever end.

Logan shifts again and his next move makes James’ heart stutter-stop before pounding so hard, so loud, James is sure they can hear it in space. Logan’s hand is on James’ leg, just above his knee, the tips of his fingers stroking back and forth over the inseam of James’ jeans.

James turns to face Logan, the light from the screen highlighting the flush on Logan’s cheeks, the way he’s biting his bottom lip, and James wants his own teeth there, wants to trace the indent with his tongue even though he knows he can’t.

Only, apparently he can, if the way Logan’s lips are suddenly on his, Logan’s hand nervous and gentle where it rests against James’ chest.

James fists his hands in Logan’s shirt, intends to push him away but somehow ends up pulling him in until Logan’s straddling James’ lap, Logan’s lips opening softly against his.

James groans, feels more than hears Logan mimic the sound, the first tentative touch of Logan’s tongue against his bottom lip shooting through James like wildfire. He surges into the kiss, licks at Logan’s tongue with his own, lets Logan licks the taste of pizza from his mouth before he traces the smooth straightness of Logan’s teeth, the velvety softness of the insides of his cheeks, their lips sliding together softly, wetly, James’ lungs burning for air, his legs tingling pleasantly from the weight of Logan on them.

“James,” Logan moans, the sound reverberating through James, a shock to his system that makes him pull away, gulping in huge, heaving breaths.

“I can’t do this,” James says, forcing the words out. He wants to, god, does he want to, but he can’t—he can’t have a taste only to have to let it all go tomorrow.

He pushes Logan off his lap and stands, leaving without a backwards glance, the movie still playing in the background.

\--

James doesn’t sleep that night, tosses and turns restlessly until the sun creeps up over the horizon, the break between the curtains casting a yellow glow over the hardwood floor. He wants to bury himself beneath the blankets, wants to stay there until the sun goes back down and the moon is high in the sky, until Jett and Logan and kidnapping are nothing but a mere memory, but he knows that he can’t, that today is the day, the day Logan will be leaving forever.

He crawls out of bed, rubbing a hand over his face as he drags himself to the bathroom, the shower hot enough to burn when he steps beneath the spray.

The bathroom is clouded over in smoke when James emerges, feeling no better than he did before. Every move he makes is slow, like he’s trudging through a field of mud, and he’s tired, so fucking tired. It takes all his strength to get dressed, to paste on a happy face in a way he hasn’t had to do since he was younger, when he was stuck fending for himself because his mom was too fucking busy with her business and cosmetics to pay attention to the only child she had, and it’s a thought that makes bitterness rise in James’ throat, the thought that no matter how old he is, who he is, what he does, he’s never going to be good enough, not for his mom, not for Kendall, and especially not for Logan.

It gives him a different kind of strength and he soldiers on, faces the day head on as he exits his room and heads downstairs to the kitchen, a plate stacked with pancakes on the counter for him, a note resting beside it.

_Sorry about last night – L_

James fingers the edge of the paper with his thumbnail, folds it in half and slides it into his pocket, a small smile gracing his lips.

The pancakes smell good, delicious, really, but James has no appetite and he doesn’t even want to try eating right now. It feels like there’s so much to do before Jett arrives, but James knows that everything he could do has already been done. The only thing left to do is wait.

\--

James is pacing the floor in his room, Logan somewhere else in the house, when his phone goes off, alerting him of a new text. The sound is so sudden, so loud, that it sets James even more on edge, his stomach flipping wildly.

_’Empty warehouses near the loading docks. 2 PM,’_ it reads, and James looks at the time display on his phone, sees that he has less than an hour, and he just wants to scream, yell, punch someone, something, anything, to make it all stop.

He rubs his eyes and pockets his phone, shrugging into his leather jacket.

At least he’ll be $30 million dollars richer by the end of the day.

Somehow, it doesn’t make any of this any better or easier.

\--

Logan’s sitting in the living room when James gets downstairs, dressed in the flannel pajama bottoms and t-shirt he was wearing when James first grabbed him. It makes James want to run back upstairs and grab his own clothes for Logan to wear again, anything to make it seem like this isn’t the end, but he pushes forward, clearing his throat as he stands against the wall, alerting Logan to his presence.

“Jett’s not coming here,” James says, staring at the wall ahead. “We’ve got to go meet him somewhere.”

“When?” Logan asks.

“Half hour,” James replies, eyes skating over the tense line of Logan’s back, the way his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles white with the pressure.

“We should probably go soon, then, huh?”

James nods his head, turning to leave when Logan’s voice stops him.

“I um—I wanted to thank you for everything,” Logan says, voice no louder than a whisper.

James nods again, doesn’t trust his voice right now, and walks away, hunting down the keys for his SUV.

\--

The ride over to the warehouses near the loading docks is quiet, tense, and when they pull up, there’s no sign of Jett anywhere, the area around them deserted. James looks at the clock on the dashboard and sees that Jett should’ve been here already, and it makes his stomach clench with fear.

Something’s not right.

James kills the engine to the SUV, pocketing the keys after he slides out, Logan following suit. They stand at the front of the car, looking in both directions, waiting, waiting, waiting.

A silver car with tinted windows pulls up and James looks to Logan, nodding his head almost imperceptibly, ready to put their plan into action.

The moment the car door opens and Jett steps out, Logan’s off, running as quick as he can, and James stands there, trying his hardest not to smile, but then Jett’s reaching into the inside of his jacket, and James wants to scream, to tell Logan to get out of the way, but his mouth won’t work, his brain won’t let his vocal cords form the words, and there’s the crack of gunfire, loud and deafening, and Logan’s dropping to the cement, and there’s blood, blood everywhere, red, red, so fucking red, staining the cement, and James can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t hear, until his arms are being pulled behind his back, metal cold around his wrists.

“James Diamond, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Federal Agent Logan Mitchell,” a voice says from behind him, loud and authoritative.

“What? No, no, he was—I was,” James stutters, panic filling his insides.

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one…,” the voice trails off in James’ ear, and everything around him feels like it’s going in slow motion, voices honey thick and slow, bodies moving like they’re covered in molasses.

James is being shoved into the back of a car, stumbling over his own feet, shoulders straining from the way his hands are cuffed behind him. Nothing makes sense. None of it. Federal Agent? Under Arrest? This can’t be his life. This can’t be happening to him. He did what Jett asked. Why is this still happening?

Everything fades to white noise around James, his eyes fixed on the seat in front of him. One second his eyes are shut, and the next they’re open and James is being shuffled inside a building, his arm gripped tight by a guy almost half a foot shorter, pulling him around as though he weighs nothing.

James is deposited into an interrogation room, the walls a dull grey, the metal of the seat cold and unforgiving. His hands are uncuffed from behind his back only to be cuffed to the bar on the table, and though the metal feels suffocating, at least the strain is off his shoulders now.

The door opens and closes and James doesn’t even bother looking up, doesn’t want to see whoever it is, just wants this all to be over with as soon as possible, so it takes him by surprise when he hears Jett’s voice, cold and menacing as it slithers down his spine.

“Hope Garcia wasn’t too rough with you,” he says, but judging by the tone of his voice, it’s obvious he hopes Garcia was.

James lifts his eyes from the table, heart freezing in his chest. “Y-you—they shot you,” he stutters out. “I saw the blood. Y-y-you’re dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan—Agent Mitchell—says, shaking his head.

James has nothing to say. What can he say? There are no words in any language to even begin to describe how he’s feeling, and even if there were, Logan is the last person he’d waste them on. What’s the point? Everything was a lie.

Jett—presumably Agent Stetson—rambles on and on about charges and grand larceny and prison time and James just doesn’t care anymore.

“I’ve gotta say, though,” Agent Stetson says, “didn’t expect your buddy Kendall to cooperate so easily with us.”

That pulls James’ attention to him, stomach dropping to his feet. “What?” He can’t. God, could his life get any fucking worse?

“The way Kendall just handed you over in exchange for immunity, man, what a friend he is,” Agent Stetson says, so fucking gleeful James wants to rip the cuffs off his wrists and punch him in the face.

“Jett, knock it off,” Logan—Agent Mitchell, not Logan—says quietly, and James can’t even stomach the sound of his voice now.

“It gets so much better, though,” Agent Stetson continues, as though Agent Mitchell hadn’t said anything at all. “You get Logan, then, and he puts up a bit of a fight in the beginning before he settles down and starts behaving, and then, oh, man, the icing on the cake: you go and fall for him. Really, I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

James is going to be sick. The two people he thought he could trust, the two people he thought cared about him, they betrayed him, lied to him, played him.

“I want a lawyer,” James hears himself say, his heart feeling like lead in his chest.

Agent Stetson scoffs, mutters, “Whatever,” and the door opens and shuts as he leaves.

“I am sorry, James,” Agent Mitchell says, voice soft and sincere. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t—you weren’t supposed to be this amazing guy, and I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for you, but life rarely ever goes the way we want it to.”

“Please leave,” James says, the words rough and gritty as they leave his mouth. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. His life’s over, anyway. The guy he was going to give it all up for, the guy he was going to leave his life of crime for, the guy he was willing to do anything to be with, doesn’t even exist, and he can’t stomach being in the same room with a guy wearing the same face as the one who kissed him, who wanted him.

“I’m sorry,” Agent Mitchell says again, and then he’s gone, the door closing whisper-quiet behind him.

James lifts his head and blinks, tears hot and wet sliding down his cheeks. He could’ve loved Logan, could’ve given him anything he wanted, but it doesn’t matter now. All James has now is a gaping wound in his chest and a life behind bars ahead.


End file.
